


The Smart(er) Brother

by tattooeddevil



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crack, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-03
Updated: 2012-09-03
Packaged: 2017-11-13 11:25:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/503012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tattooeddevil/pseuds/tattooeddevil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An environmentally conscious witch curses Dean by transforming the Impala into a Smart Car. And then things get even worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Smart(er) Brother

“What the hell?”

Sam practically runs into Dean’s back when Dean stops dead in his tracks, not five steps from the front door of the house they just killed a circle of witches in.

“Not exactly stopping-time, Dean.”

Dean doesn’t hear him, or pretends not to hear him, because he doesn’t move a muscle, nor acknowledges Sam’s urgent push against his back. He merely repeats his previous words.

“What the hell?”

There’s a little more emphasis on the exclamation this time, and Sam can clearly hear the slight note of panic in Dean’s voice. Sam glances around them quickly, sending a short prayer to whoever is still out there that the cops won’t swing around the corner within the next two minutes, sirens screeching, guns blazing. All seems calm, it doesn’t appear as though the neighbors have called the SWAT team just yet, after all the screaming and gunfire emanating from the house not minutes ago.

With everything quiet and non-threatening, he turns his attention to Dean and whatever has his panties in a bunch.

Oh.

Oh!

Oh no.

A sense of urgency runs through Sam, he needs to do something. Anything to keep Dean from freaking out completely. Now. He can’t make Dean un-see, so that’s off the table. Maybe a memory-wipe of some sort? Sam can’t think of anything to do that with, save knocking Dean out cold, so that’s off the table too. Knock Dean out anyway and haul him off to the motel before he really breaks down? Sam’s fist is halfway in the air when Dean makes a choked off sound and his knees buckle beneath him. Instead of punching his lights out, Sam decides to catch his big brother before he hits the ground.

Dean is such a drama queen.

Dean sort of just sits there for a moment; his eyes wet, his hands trembling, his breath stuttering in and out, muttering “my baby, my baby” softly. Sam just rolls his eyes at the overly dramatic display, but waits impatiently until Dean’s ready to get up again. When Dean is, he gets up on shaky legs and finally takes the last steps to the side of the road where they parked the Impala.

Which is now a bright green Smart car.

Bright, shiny green. The shimmer from the metallic coat actually hurts his eyes. Not to mention the fact that is not the Impala. Not Dean’s baby. Oh hell.

Sam glances at Dean, who is now standing in front of the tiny, tiny car, glaring at it. Obviously the mourning over losing his baby is over then. He joins Dean at the tiny, tiny hood of the vehicle and stares at it too. He’s unsure if Dean is maybe trying to get it to change back with just the power of his mind, but not even Sam - who actually had mind-powers - had ever been able to do anything like that. He tries anyway, for Dean.

With the expected result.

He’s not sure what to do now to get Dean moving and out of there, before they get arrested for killing five women and shooting up the entire house behind them. He’s pretty sure they won’t get away with the witch explanation. “I’m sorry officer, but these women were sacrificing single white men in order to get eternal youth. Plus, they turned my brother’s classic car into a bright green Smart car.” Actually, that last argument might actually hold some value, even a police officer would be revolted by the shiny pea with wheels.

Sam might have a thing against the car too.

“Dean?”

Dean’s shoulder twitches, but he doesn’t answer. Sam tries again, with the same result. Shoulder twitch and all. When he tries a third time, Dean responds in a different way, but Sam’s pretty sure it’s not a better way. No, Dean turns towards the house and starts yelling at the top of his lungs.

“You fucking bitches! Give me my baby back, you dirty, disgusting, little bitches!”

Sam wants to point out the utter insanity of yelling at the witches they just killed, he’s even got his mouth half open to get the words out, but Dean’s tirade isn’t done yet.

“You kill ten guys, you get ganked. That’s fair! Messing with a man’s wheels is not fair, you hear me?!”

And then his voice gets even louder and, if you ask Sam, a little whinier. Don’t ask Dean though, he’ll punch you for even thinking it.

“Give me my baby back!”

Dean goes on muttering hateful things towards witches in general, and the witches they just killed specifically, while circling the tiny, tiny car still sitting in front of them. He seems to have lost most of his rage, but the deep frown on his forehead is a sure sign Dean’s not approachable yet. Naturally, that’s when Sam starts poking him.

“Hey, Dean?”

“What?”

Sam chooses to ignore the bite in Dean’s snapped out response.

“You really are the smarter brother now.”

If looks could kill, Sam would be six feet under, salted and burned by Dean’s glare. Without remorse from Dean’s end. Sam smirks, Dean glares harder. Sam waits for Dean to stomp his foot, Dean waits for Sam to drop dead. Stand-off. Dean gets a fly in his eye, Sam whoops. Sam wins.

And then Dean gets him back.

“Hey, Sammy?”

“Yeah?”

“Try getting in it.”

Sam eyes the shiny pea on wheels for a second, before shaking his head. He knows exactly where Dean is going with this, and he will not be making a fool of himself today, thank you very much.

“No way in hell, Dean. No. I’ll... Walk”

Dean smirks at him, danger lurking at the corners of his mouth, his eyes glinting with mischief. Any other time, Sam would be delighted to see Dean smiling and teasing, but he knows he’ll be the butt of the joke this time. Not funny. Especially since Dean is still reeling from the shock of having his beloved car turned into a tin can with an engine, and his head isn’t on straight. This is going to go wrong. So, so wrong.

“Oh come on, Sammy, green is totally our color. You can wear it like an ugly sweater. You think it’s big enough?”

And there it is.

“Dean...”

Dean’s grin grows wider, and he moves to the trunk of the car. The tiny, tiny trunk. It can’t even be called a trunk.

“No, Sam, I’m serious, you can totally wear it! The back fits your ass perfectly. Small and flat.”

Sam isn’t even going to ask why Dean knows what his ass looks like, even if he is a little offended at it being called small and flat. He has a perfectly nice ass, thank you.

“Come on, man, try it. Just park your ass in there, stick your legs out the windows and your head out of the top.”

Sam rolls his eyes at the obvious glee in Dean’s voice with a sigh. He can take Dean’s ribbing fine, and really, it’s nice to see Dean laugh for a change, but they’re still standing outside the house they just killed a bunch of witches in. Standing around with their thumbs up their asses, cackling over their magically transformed Smart car. Pea. Bean. Whatever.

“Let’s just go, please? Get in the damn pod and drive. I don’t want to spend the night in jail.”

It takes them both one step to the side of the car and the door, Sam from the front and Dean from the back. Sam’s hand practically dwarfs the door handle when he grabs it. He can hear Dean almost giggling from the other side of the car. Pea. Bean. Tin can.

“Stop laughing at me!”

Dean howls with laughter and Sam glares. A lot. It doesn’t make Dean stop.

“Just get in the car, Samantha.”

“You get in first.”

“No, you.”

“No, you!”

Another stand-off. This time Sam doesn’t indulge Dean though, and breaks it off before it can really go somewhere. Like that one time they did the ‘who-can-stare-the-longest’ when they were kids. Dean won then and Sam’s still waiting for a proper rematch. Just not outside a massacre they are responsible for.

Despite the fact Sam said he’d walk before getting in the tiny, tiny car, he realizes it’ll be faster if he just folds up and shoves himself in. The motel is at least ten miles away and no way is he leaving Dean alone when his precious baby has just been transformed into a driving pod the size of an ant, no matter how unruffled he seems now. That’s a disaster waiting to happen, and Sam will do anything to keep it from happening. Even if it means stuffing himself into the baby frog on wheels.

He glares at Dean some more over the top of the car, which hits about waist height on Sam, before opening the passenger’s side door and looking inside.

“Holy shit.”

Dean rips open the driver’s side door at Sam’s startled gasp, and peers inside to see what Sam is so impressed with.

“Holy shit.”

Not so much impressed as he is shocked.

The interior is just as bright green as the outside is. Green steering wheel, green seats, green dash, shiny green dials and buttons, green floor mats, green everything. Holy shit alright. Dean rights himself and takes a step away from the car.

“I am not driving that. It’s like... Like a sick pea threw up in there!”

Sam straightens too and sighs. He’s starting to get annoyed with his brother’s whining. Having the Impala changed into this thing isn’t exactly rainbows and candy canes for him either.

“Dean, for god’s sake, just get in and get us out of here. Yes, it’s like a pea threw up in there, but again: I do not want to spend my night in jail. Can we go now, please?”

Dean actually turns green at the thought of driving the tin on wheels, and Sam narrowly swallows his remark about how Dean now colors with the car. He’s pretty sure that would earn him a punch, and he’d have to walk all the way back to the motel anyway. Instead, he sticks one leg inside.

He’s not sure how ridiculous he looks, but he imagines it’s spectacular. Funny enough to have Dean forget about the shiny pod for a moment and watch Sam struggle to get inside it with a smirk on his face. Sam scowls at him and focuses back on the task at hand. He grabs the top of the door with two hands and lowers himself slowly down into the car. When his ass rests in the tiny seat, he lets go of the door and pulls his arms inside. Halfway done.

He looks at his right leg still sticking out of the car onto the sidewalk, and then back at the inside of the car. His left leg is bent awkwardly, pressed up against the dash. It takes up pretty much all space; he’s never getting his other leg in there.

“Just stick it out the window, Sasquatch.”

Dean sounds way too amused for Sam’s liking.

“Shut up.”

He stares at both his leg and the inside of the car for a few more seconds, trying to figure out how to fold himself so his other leg will fit. The outcome is always “it won’t”, so naturally he just pulls it in and pushes, shifts, and squeezes himself until he is wedged in; the dash digging into his shins, his arms wrapped around his knees because they don’t fit between his torso and legs, and his back pressed against the seat. The seat that’s been pushed back as far as it’ll go and still it’s too little. He’s pretty sure he looks as miserable as he feels.

Dean is anything but miserable though. He gets in like a normal person - one leg, ass, other leg, hands on the wheel - and grins at Sam.

“Hey there, sardine. How’s the can fitting you?”

“Shut up, Dean.”

He won’t, of course. He starts the car at least, apparently the witch also changed Dean’s key to fit the tiny, tiny box with an engine. The engine makes a sort of sigh, and for a second both men wonder if it has actually started. Dean tries setting it in Drive and lifting the brake. It goes.

“Ugh, it doesn’t even make a sound. Stupid car.”

Sam would have laughed at Dean’s petulant pout if he weren’t sandwiched uncomfortably between the front and the back of the car.

The drive back to the motel comes with running commentary from a newly amused Dean. It amazes Sam how many different sayings there are - and Dean knows - to fit the situation. It actually makes him smile a little, Dean’s glee is contagious.

“Not enough room to swing a cat. I like that one. Now I wish we had a cat to swing around.”

Sam pictures it for a moment, swinging a cat around by its tail in the small car. He’s pretty sure they wouldn’t make it past one swing, the car small enough for the cat to dig its claws into something without too much trouble. He’s always been a bit of a downer when he starts thinking.

Dean parks the Smart car in front of their room at the rundown motel, and turns off the ignition with a relieved sigh.

“I don’t think anyone saw us.”

Sam wants to laugh, because yes, that is what’s important. He just wants to get out of the car, now. He opens the door and grips it with both hands to heave himself up and out. It doesn’t go as smoothly as he would like and he needs Dean’s help to get fully out and erect. Dean just smirks.

“Like a clown car, man. Priceless.”

Sam grumbles at Dean, but there’s no heat to it. Now that he’s out and able to stretch his body in a straight line again, all is better with the world. With Sam at least. He takes in Dean’s hurt and longing look at the green car before nudging him inside their room.

“Come on, let’s figure out how to get your baby back.”

Dean gives him a watery, thankful smile. Great, they’re back to drama.

“Before you break down in girly sobs on my shoulder.”

That turns Dean’s shivery bottom lip into a scowl. Mission accomplished.

Sam ushers him inside with no further attention to Dean and his mood; he just sits Dean down at the round table and hands him a pen and paper. He orders Dean to write down the incantation the witch was sprouting when they killed her, so Sam can research its origin and counter.

Dean opens his mouth to protest, but swallows his objection at being ordered around, and continues to stare at the writing pad meekly. He occasionally glances outside, at the still shiny, still tiny, tiny green car sitting in the parking lot in front of their room. All that’s missing is a miserable sigh every five seconds and Dean would be the epitome of a long suffering teenage girl on her period. Sam probably shouldn’t say that out loud.

Sam sets a bottle of beer next to Dean’s hand and grabs one for himself too. He boots up the computer and opens the browser to his go-to site for ancient witch’s incantations and spells. Hurrah for the internet. When he looks at Dean, expecting at least a few words on the paper, Dean is still sitting there, staring out the window with a forlorn expression on his face. Sam scowls and leans over to snap his fingers in Dean’s face a few times.

“Come on, Dean. Now is not the time to go all depressed and emo on me. Let’s just figure this out like any other case and get the Impala back, okay?”

Dean shakes his head, a tremor in his voice as he speaks.

“But Sammy, look at it. Look at that thing out there. That... pea. That used to be my baby. My baby, Sam! I lost my baby...”

Laughter bubbles up in Sam’s chest and he knows it’s wrong, but man, emo-Dean is a hoot. He swallows it down anyway and covers up the few snorts that do escape him with a cough. It’s enough to snap Dean out of it, so Sam’s not gonna complain. Dean shakes his head and his face sets in a determined glare.

“Okay, let’s do this.”

He picks up the pen and starts scribbling words down. Sam watches with amusement and impatience. No matter how fun drama queen Dean is, no way is Sam folding himself in the Smart car ever again. They need to break the spell, and they need to do it fast. Like, now, preferably.

“I can’t remember the entire thing word for word, but some of them sounded familiar. Latin for sure. Here.”

Dean hands Sam the notepad with a short list of words on it.

_Salutem_  
Redivivus  
Mundare  
Purifico  
Valetudo  
Lectio  
Currus  
Malus 

“I recognize a lot of them actually. Hang on.”

Dean snorts.

“Of course you do, geek boy. Now get me my baby back.”

Sam starts typing furiously. It doesn’t take him long to find the spell the witch used on Dean. It does take him awhile to figure out how to break it though. When he does, he simply lifts an eyebrow and stares at Dean, until Dean starts squirming.

“What?”

Instead of answering, Sam turns the laptop towards Dean. There’s one large word displayed on the screen.

**RECYCLE**

“Recycle?”

“That’s what it says.”

“Recycle?”

“It ain’t gonna change when you say it again, Dean.”

One... Two... Three...

“Recycle?”

“Dean!”

“Sam!”

Sam throws his hands in the air. Dean is so immature.

“Seriously though. Recycle? How did you come up with that one?”

“I didn’t. She did; the witch. The spell is meant to teach someone a lesson. Health, earth cleanliness, yadda yadda yadda. You saw her house; she had four different recycling bins. The organic fabrics all over the place, the posters on the wall of Nature services and Save The Whales and what not. She wanted to teach you a lesson in being green.”

“Being green?”

Seriously, again with the parroting?

“Yes, Dean, being green. And before you ask why, I’m pretty sure it has something to do with the burger wrapping paper you threw on the ground in front of her house. And the burger itself. I don’t think she ate meat. Or threw paper to the ground. You probably pissed her off. And then you went all Casanova on her and started grabbing her boobs...”

“I didn’t grab her boobs!”

“But you wanted to, everyone could see that. What I’m saying is, she wanted you to think about the environment more and so cursed you with some sort of green spell. Turned the Impala more environmentally conscious too.”

“So what, I have to go all hippie to break the spell?”

Sam sits back and smirks.

“Strap on your sandals, dude.”

“No! No, I’m not doing it. End of story. Think of something else.”

They sit in silence for minutes, both drawing blanks on any viable alternative. Like Sam expected, Dean’s the first to get impatient and start wriggling in his seat. He counts to ten and, at eight, Dean gets up and announces he’s going to take a shower.

“Better make it a short one.”

Sam raises a hand and flashes Dean the peace sign.

“Save the planet, dude!”

Dean rolls his eyes and pulls a Sam-Bitch-face-#23 imitation.

“Shut up.”

Sam smirks; he knows how Dean likes his showers: hot and long. And he can’t help but rub it in.

“No jerking off, man, takes too long.”

Dean scowls.

“I don’t even wanna know how you know how long I take jerking off.”

“Well, I assume you’re not shaving your legs and armpits and what-not like a girl, and you take forever. Basic math man, you’re jerking off.”

Sam grins at Dean’s head-shake, but Dean doesn’t have a counterargument. Instead, he stalks off to the bathroom, intent on taking the longest shower in his life, just out of spite. He slams the door behind himself and leaves Sam to chuckle in his seat.

“Drama queen.”

“I heard that!”

“You were supposed to.”

Without Dean to annoy, Sam decides it’s time for food. They haven’t eaten since that morning, before they ganked the circle of witches and got Dean cursed. He hears the shower being turned on, so yells at Dean through the door he’s going for food. Naturally Dean wants a burger. “With extra meat and extra paper.” Sam rolls his eyes at the closed door and heads out with a mumbled “stubborn bastard”.

“I heard that too!”

When Sam comes back, he finds Dean sitting on the bed, wrapped in both their blankets, shivering from head to toe. He’s fully dressed as far as Sam can see and his hair’s dry. He’s glaring at the bathroom as if he wants to salt and burn it. Sam closes the door and sets down the bag of food.

“What happened?”

“Shower. Bloody thing got cold after three minutes. I hadn’t even wet my hair yet! I had to finish with ice-cold water. Man, I am freezing!”

Sam’s pretty sure he shouldn’t laugh. He does anyway.

“So no jerking off either, huh?”

Dean glares at him.

“How do you know I didn’t just do it in your bed, right here?”

Sam just shakes his head and goes in search of extra blankets for his ice-cube of a brother. He’s pretty sure Dean’s overreacting, but he’s nothing if not an awesome little brother. He piles the blankets on top of Dean and then wraps himself around him. Dean glares.

“This better not be cuddling.”

“It’s not, you big baby. I’m sharing body heat. Like penguins.”

“Penguins? Could you be more of a geek, Sammy?”

“Shut up, Al Gore.”

Dean stabs his elbow at Sam through their mountain of blankets, as ineffective as a newborn kitten with mittens, and Sam just hugs Dean closer. It’s not cuddling, honest.

Things go steadily downhill from that moment on. Their food gets cold before Dean is warm enough to emerge from the bed, so they have to go out to the diner across the street to get food. Which is - today of all days - having an organic foods day. No meat. At all. Dean refuses to eat veggie burgers or salads, and drags Sam off to the gas station a few shops down. The gas station gets raided and Dean walks out with a paper bag - “I’m sorry sir, but we’re out of plastic bags” - full of plastic wrapped candy bars and plastic bottles of soda. And a satisfied smirk plastered on his face.

“See, Sammy? Stupid witch got nothing on me!”

That’s of course when it all really goes to hell. Sam watches Dean step out the door and onto the sidewalk, only to bump into a police officer. Dean mumbles what Sam supposes is an apology, but makes no move to pick up the candy bar wrapper he dropped when he bumped into the policeman. The cop pointedly looks at the wrapper and then back up at Dean, who just stands there with the gloating smirk still on his face.

“Sorry officer, I have no idea what you’re trying to tell me.”

Sam rolls his eyes and steps to the side a little; he can’t pretend they’re not together; the town’s too small for that, they’ve already been seen together, but he sure as hell can pretend he doesn’t see what’s happening. That is, until his rolling eyes land on what used to be their Impala-turned-Smart-car across the street. Which is now an electric moped the size of Sam’s left hand.

“Uhm, Dean?”

“Not now, Sammy, the nice officer and me are talking.”

Sam’s unsure of what’s happening between Dean and the cop, unable to follow both that disaster and the drama that’s in front of his eyes. He takes a few aborted steps towards the tiny moped before scanning the street for the shiny green pea they rode in on. Maybe he doesn’t remember where they parked it properly. Though, no, they always park in front of their room and that’s exactly where the moped is sitting now. It is then that he realizes the color of the moped. Bright green metallic. Dean’s gonna have a fit.

Raised voices behind him draw Sam’s attention away from the unbelievably small thing on wheels, but when he hears Dean call someone - most probably the cop, and no Dean, don’t go insulting cops - a moron, he knows it’s time to intervene. It’s too late actually; Dean’s already all up in the cop’s face and the cop isn’t backing down either. Dean’s saying something about damn well littering if he wants to, and the cop is waving his book angrily, threatening to write Dean a fine if he does it again. And then Dean does it again.

Has he mentioned Dean is a drama queen?

The cop pulls out a pen and starts writing with short, angry jabs at the paper while Dean looks on with a smirk on his face. Sam pulls Dean a few steps back by his arm; better not be standing too close to the cop once he pulls out the fine and hands it to Dean. Dean might bite his hand off.

“Dean, stop it! You’re just making it worse.”

Dean has the guts to look at Sam with innocent eyes. Sam can just swallow down his snort. Just.

“Making what worse, Sammy? I’m just having a nice conversation with the police officer here.”

Instead of trying to explain, Sam just pulls a bitchface at Dean and points behind them.

“You’re making that worse.”

Dean follows Sam’s finger and Sam can see the exact moment Dean registers the now bright green tandem sitting in front of their motel room door. Shiny, bright green frame, green paddles, green light on the front and back, green saddles and a shiny, green wire basket with a lid. Sam figures at least they have room for their weapons.

Dean’s eyes go wide like saucers and all color drains from his face. His mouth opens and closes silently, like a fish, and Sam shouldn’t laugh, right? For the second time in one day, Dean’s knees buckle and Sam has to catch him before he hits the ground.

It’s not the fact that the Smart car is not there anymore. At least, Sam hopes it isn’t, he’s happy that that atrocity is gone. It’s more the fact that apparently it can get worse. Dean is still gasping for air in his arms, with the cop waving the fine in front of his face. Sam snatches the little paper from the officer’s hand with an eye roll.

“Thank you, we got it.”

The cop grins and turns to walk off. Sam watches him go before turning back to the puddle of big brother in his arms. He hefts Dean up on his feet and stuffs the fine in Dean’s pocket. Dean’s hand drifts to his pocket unconsciously while he crosses the street and walks up to the tandem bike on shaky legs. He glances back at Sam and Sam almost bursts out in laughter at the pitiful look on dean’s face.

“A tandem bike? Really? My baby is now a tandem bike?”

Sam shakes his head with a snort.

“Just be glad you missed the moped.”

If Dean’s eyes got any bigger they would fall out of their sockets, Sam is sure.

“Moped? She was a moped?”

Dean’s voice quivers and his eyes start to water up again. Sam hurries to find a distraction before the waterworks really start.

“No chick flick moments man, no time. We gotta check on those witches, see if they really are dead and gone and their mojo is dead.”

Dean nods and quickly wipes his eyes. Sam watches him get himself back under control and put his game face on. He probably shouldn’t mention how constipated and forced Dean looks right now. Dean physically shakes himself before turning back to the tandem bike.

“On that, though?”

Sam shrugs.

“You have a better idea? It’s ten miles, I am not walking.”

“You had no problem walking yesterday.”

“Yes, but yesterday I had to fold myself up four times to even fit in the stupid tin on wheels. This has head and leg space.”

“Trust you to prefer a bike over a car.”

“Just shut up and get on the bike Dean.”

They fight over who gets to be up front and steer; Dean wins if only because Sam’s knees hit the steer every time he wants to peddle. So Dean gets to steer and Sam is banned to the slightly roomier seat behind him. It takes them half an hour, three emergency stops and two scraped knees, but they make it to the witch’s house. Where Dean retaliates the witch and her curse by ripping the poster about saving whales from the wall. The curse retaliates by turning the tandem bike into a wheelbarrow.

“No, no, no!”

“Fabulously done, Dean.”

“Shut up, princess.”

They leave the house and start walking back to town, wheelbarrow in tow. It’s handy for their weapons, big enough anyway, just not very safe from prying eyes. The trek back into town costs them an hour and a half, and Dean spends most of it cursing and bitching. Apparently he’s widened his vocabulary since the last time a witch cursed him.

When they get back into town, Dean pushes the wheelbarrow into the parking spot in front of their motel room and stares at it.

“Ugly-ass thing.”

He turns away and shrugs his coat off while walking to the door to their room. The little paper with the police officer’s fine falls out of his pocket and Dean’s not fast enough to catch it. The whole thing happens in slow motion; the paper falling, Dean’s hand reaching out to catch it before it hits the ground, his outcry of ‘Nooooo!’, the fine hitting the ground.

The wheelbarrow turning into a foot-powered scooter.

By the time it’s 9PM, Dean is pissed and Sam is tired. At least Dean got a decent cup of coffee somewhere during the day. Organic roast isn’t so bad after all, even Dean had to admit that. But running on fumes - candy bars only go so far - they’re both cranky and irritable, and Sam decides it’s best if they just turn in early and figure it out in the morning.

The morning comes with bright sunshine and a still cranky Dean. He makes Sam head out without a shower - “it’s gonna be cold anyway” - and head for the coffee shop they got the good coffee from the day before. Sam waits until Dean’s inhaled two cups before he carefully changes the subject to Dean’s curse and the possible cure.

“I was thinking.”

“Did it hurt?”

“Shut up, I’m trying to help you.”

“I don’t need any help.”

“Oh really? So you’re just gonna go without a shower for the rest of your life? Live off candy bars and drive your scooter everywhere?”

Dean grimaces at Sam’s reminder of the day before. He has to admit it wasn’t exactly his idea of fun. He’ll never admit it out loud, but that night, a shiny green Smart car, an electric moped, a tandem, a wheelbarrow and a scooter haunted his dreams. He doesn’t dare think about what would be next if he so much as thinks about doing something polluting. Birkenstocks and cotton pants probably. He shudders at the thought and sighs in defeat.

“Fine. What do I do, green man?”

“Like I said, I was thinking. About yesterday. Everything that happened with the diner and the gas station and the police officer and the littering and all that; maybe if you just play along, it’ll break the curse.”

“Play along? You mean actually be green?”

Dean says it as if it’s a deadly disease and Sam rolls his eyes. Dean actually turns a little pale thinking about it. Again, drama queen.

“I’m serious Dean, just... try and be environmentally conscious for a day.”

“And that will break the curse?”

“I don’t know. Not for sure. But it looks like that’s what this curse is trying to get you to do. So, we try that and see if it works. Or do you want to find out what the scooter turns into?”

Dean heaves a deep sigh and actually pouts. Sam can practically see the wheels in Dean’s head turning; figuring out what he has to give up and give in, and what the chances he can get out of it are. He sees the exact moment Dean realizes his chances are nil. His shoulders sag, his bottom lip pokes out even more and he faceplants into the table.

“Fine. Where do I start?”

“Food. We’re supposed to have breakfast, so we’ll have breakfast.”

“So, what? No pancakes?”

“No pancakes. Whole wheat bread with oatmeal and some more coffee.”

Dean groans and lifts his head to puppy-dog-eye at Sam.

“Is there really no other way?”

Sam snorts. Whiny Dean is fun.

“I don’t know, but unless you can think of something else, this is what we do. What you do.”

Dean pouts.

“I hate you.”

Sam hears that at least three hundred times more that day, while Dean is busy being as green as Dean Winchester can be. They walk everywhere, buy only organic food and drinks, use paper bags, donate to the homeless man outside the diner, and help an old lady cross the street.

“I don’t think this has anything to do with being green, Sam!”

“Shut up and watch out for that car!”

“I hate you!”

Three hundred and one.

They kill time by sitting in the park, people-watching instead of watching TV in their motel room. They drink tea instead of coffee, despite the coffee being organic. Dean gets twitchy after ten cups, and Sam can’t deal with that on top of everything else. They recycle and even help plant new trees at the edge of town. Sam has to agree that was a bit too much of a coincidence, but hey, when you go green, you go all the way.

By 2PM they have the wheelbarrow back and at 3.30PM, the tandem bike is sitting in front of their motel room, all shiny and painfully green. It takes a few more hours of sitting in the half-dark, the only light source in the room are candles - “Romantic, Dean”, “Shut up, asshole”- , to get the moped back. It is 9PM when Dean realizes he is only two steps away from having his baby back and actively starts looking for things to do “greenly”. He goes into the bathroom and comes out with blue lips and pale skin, but he got the Smart car back. A triumphant grin spreads on his face.

“You were right, Sammy, this is working! One more thing.”

They look around the room, wracking their brain over what to do to get the Impala back, but there’s nothing. The TV isn’t on, the lights aren’t on, there’s no waste lying around, there’s nothing plastic in the room. Then Dean’s eyes land on his leather jacket.

“Leather.”

It takes Sam a few moments to catch on and when he does, he shakes his head vehemently.

“No! No, you can’t throw out Dad’s jacket! You love it!”

Dean looks at the leather coat mournfully, but Sam can see the stubborn set to his jaw. Dean is going to do this, whether he likes it or not. He watches as Dean picks up the jacket and walks outside. At the parking lot, Dean waves the leather jacket at the Smart car.

“See this? This is to get my baby back! You better turn back to my baby, you stupid, bloody pea!”

Dean makes a show of striding to the motel’s waste bins and opening the lid.

“See? I’m doing it! Turn back, you bastard!”

Dean throws the jacket in and for ten seconds, nothing happens. Sam starts to think it hasn’t worked, but then he blinks and the Impala is back. He sees the exact moment Dean blinks and sees the change too; Dean whoops loudly and throws himself on the hood of the Impala. He kisses the hood and snuggles closer to the car.

“Hi baby.”

Sam shakes his head with a snort. Again. Dean, drama queen. Add in love affair with his car and you’ve got it.

“I’ll be inside, taking a hot shower and watching TV.”

Dean just waves him off, but calls out to him just as he’s about to close the door after him.

“Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“Next time, don’t leave me alone in a room full of witches.”

“Next time, don’t let a group of witches persuade you into an orgy.”

“I didn’t know they were witches. They could have been humans.”

“A group of hot, young women coincidentally running into the biggest slut in the world - who happens to be a hunter - and invite him to an orgy? I will always think ‘witches’.”

Dean glares, Sam smirks. Point for Sam.


End file.
